from America

Just got back from Lake Tahoe, where my uncle married, by my count, for the fourth time. I'm happy for the guy, and I like the new wife, my new aunt. Even if I stepped on her gown's trail while taking photos, and heard a rip. My bad, but to be fair, it was a small rip, more heard than seen.

Tahoe during this time of the year was beautiful, but I was without Internet for this crucial weekend of the NBA draft and the deaths of MJ and Farah Fawcett. I'm back in San Francisco now, and the unread items on my reader is stressing me out.

Anyway, my trip is finally winding down. In two days I board a plane that will finally take me home. Home is Manila, Philippines, an incomparable place in every way possible. I want Manila humidity, smog and traffic. I seriously do. I also want the uneven comfort of my own bed.

As usual, I am overthinking and figuring out how I feel about this whole trip. The NYC leg was all about me. It was me doing what I wanted to do, hanging with who I wanted to see, staying at wherever I wanted to stay. NCY was, and will always be, great.

This whole West Coast leg was about family, however, and all the baggage that comes with it. The whole experience of spending extended amounts of time with family in close quarters is Kafkaesque in its absurdity, Dante Alighieric in its pain, and Apatowish in its heartfelt humor.

There are many stories from here. About how my relatives made it here and how they adjusted to the way of life. One family first landed in Michigan, and lasted in all that cold for about a year. They decided to go west to San Francisco and rejoiced when, after crossing the hills and plains, they finally saw the city. That city turned out to be Sacramento. It was such a frontier story, I forgot it happened in the late 80's.

Also my uncle (another one, not the guy married many times over) was so pissed about migrating to America that, within the first few months of living here (well, Michigan), he decided he wanted to go back home to the Philippines. That he planned to do it after dropping off my cousin at school, and only packing his books, makes me imagine the frustration that led to this very unsuccessful plan.

In this part of America crisscrossed by flyovers and highways, I spent many hours in a car listening to my aunt recount how she met my uncle (the frustrated man) after losing her first love, a guy who, ironically, settled somewhere here in the West Coast. Theirs is a story for the movies.

But in the midst of all that, family has taken root, marriages have grown, and love has been lost and found. New chapters have been written. Complete, full lives have been lived here.

I'm going back home to resume mine, but I'm taking the stories with me.

Away We Go

I made it a point to see Away We Go, the first joint effort of Sam Mendes and the writing team of authors Dave Eggers and Vendela Vida. I came away really liking it despite some reviews that say that it's too quirky for its own good. I saw the quirk; I saw how some people can feel that the movie had caricatures not characters.

I, however, felt the emotional resonance to be strong and true. It may have something to do with me feeling a bit vulnerable and untethered, like the two characters deftly played by John Krasinski and Maya Rudolph. Or that they are also close to me in age. This demographic, the late 20s/early 30s, is still uncharted territory. It's transition time. We move from having our own apartment to planting our roots, from holding a job to choosing our vocation, from having a girlfriend to finding our partner.

Yet, there is no formula. I like the idea that, no matter how much prep work, and no matter how scary, when it comes to things like parenthood, partnership, and life, we will have to wing it and hope for the best.

ferries

I love ferries.

boys and girls in america

Yesterday could have easily been a bad day on this trip of mine. It started off wrong early. But I managed to catch one of my favorite bands, The Hold Steady, in Williamsburg, where I withstood moshing kids and flung beer, to listen to powerful music played by a hard rocking band.

My day ended on Lia's two-seater couch (which I have come to know and love), sleeping in my unbuttoned jeans, drenched in the sweet scent of dried, fermented barley. It was glorious. Life 3274, dead empty existence 304.

excuse the self-promo

But I got my site redesigned by the awesome team of Lizza's Room. Please drop by!

Day 1

After traveling for about a day, I'm finally in New York. I arrived this morning, and as soon as I got off the plane, my stomach growling for something solid, I got myself my old breakfast habit of bagel and cream cheese. It felt good. It felt good seeing the skyline from the highway from JFK. It felt good coming down Williamsburgh and running straight into the Lower East Side.

We swung up over to the west, and I finally got dropped off at Lia's place. I looked out her window, and I saw the park and the buildings over on the east side. I took a shower, put on some new clothes, and headed to the comic convention with Ramon and Neva. It wasn't my scene but it was great seeing the art work appreciated by solid fans.

Still, I left them there, and not wanting to crash, I got a Redbull and headed over to Union Square. I dropped by the huge Barnes and Noble just to see if it was still the same. It is. I dropped by the big Virgin store on the other end of Union Square, the one with the huge digital clock. They're going out of business and everything is on sale. Even the store fixtures are being sold.

Strand, over at 12th and Broadway, provided a sharp contrast to the sadness that was the Virgin store. The aisles were full and the lines were long. I love Strand, with it's musty smell of old books. I just went to see how the place looked but ended up spending over a hundred bucks on two books. I've been looking for these two because they were books I've always wanted to own. They had fifteen bucks slashed off their list prices, and these were new condition, hard-to-finds. I swear. Anyway, I now own Todd Hido's House Hunting, and Alec Soth's NIAGARA. And that's the last of my purchases. In New York at least.

Right now, I'm back at Lia's place. Ramon and Neva are probably still at MoCCA, and Lia and Ling are at the park for Frisbee. I have the place to myself, and I'm trying hard not to zonk out. I like that in a city like New York, you can still find lots of places for some solitude and quiet. That's how great this city is. I'm glad I still know it, and it knows me. It's been five years, but it's like I never left.

Anders Linden

This is great stuff by Anders Linden, who I found through The Best Part.

Pasalubong is a dreaded word for me. It means heavier, bulkier luggage. It connotes obligation that, when missed, begins a vicious cycle that involves, at different points, sulking and even more pasalubong. It may be that I'm young that way, ignorant and insensitive to this time-honored tradition. Or maybe it's because I've never been the gift-giver. I'm just happy to see people who I hope are happy to see me. No need for a token exchange of, er, tokens.

Still, hard-nosed as I try to be, I usually end up as a perpetuator of the cycle, a bearer of pasalubong. Usually shopped at the last minute, like tonight, as I passed by Ralph's to get cartons of cigs for a friend and cousin. I can't blame them, even I can't believe how much cheaper it is here.

Anyway. I think pasalubong is very telling of the Filipino psyche. It goes back to the 70's/80's when we could only get a taste of America from the PX store. We needed others to bring home the good stuff. And the others, who forsook friends, family and country for greener pastures, had to have something to show for all that. Pride, loss of face, guilt play into the whole thing, contributing to the whole soap opera that is our society.

Also, it's the 21st century. When my mom wanted to pack the freakin' bidet my uncle wanted, I told her we can ship things nowadays. Or these things could be ordered online. I was told that that was easier said than done. What the old folks can't fathom is that while it's still easier to say than do, the doing isn't as difficult as it used to. (As a side note, is there actually anything that's easier to do than say?)

Sigh. Anyway, my luggage is stuffed. I'm actually editing now. In goes the gourmet tuyo, out goes a couple of my t-shirts. The cycle continues. I just want to see you all, and I hope you want to see me too.